Brian returned with Daisy and their twin children.
He frowned, his voice cold. “Aurora, what are you doing?”
Without changing my expression, I tossed the remaining pages into the fire. My voice was hoarse. “Burning things.”
Brian’s face darkened as if he wanted to say something, but Daisy gently tugged at his arm.
Her tone was soft, yet laced with pride. “Darling, don’t be angry. She’s just… reluctant to let go.”
Brian pulled his arm away from her, his expression stiff as he turned toward me.
“The children will be staying here for a while. Let them use the nursery.”
I froze, my nails digging into my palm.
“That room was meant for our child.”
He hesitated, then spoke with icy calm. “They’re my children too.”
I laughed, the sound sharp as a blade.
“But they’ll never be mine.”
The air froze.
Daisy leaned into his arms and said sweetly, “Aurora, don’t be so bitter. I just want the kids to have a warm home.”
I didn’t bother replying. I turned and went upstairs.
Night fell.
The room was silent, except for the glow of my phone lighting up again and again.
It was Daisy.
【The necklace he gave you when you were rushed to the ER—it was just a leftover free gift I didn’t want.】
【Every time he said he was on a business trip, he was actually with me.】
【Now everyone knows I’m Mrs. Hudson. You’re nothing but a forgotten shadow.】
Photo after photo appeared on the screen—
hotel rooms, lobbies, dinner tables—
each stamped with clear dates, even one from last night.
Only then did I realize that while I was drowning in pain, he had been smiling in her arms.
My chest ached dully, but the pain quickly settled into silence.
When pain lasts too long, even the tearing feels numb.
Late that night, Brian pushed the door open.
He carried a faint scent of jasmine—Daisy’s favorite perfume.
On his neck were faint red marks.
“I know what happened today was a bit harsh,” he said softly, standing before me, his tone gentle like soothing a pet. “But I’m helping you atone. Daisy has forgiven you. Just apologize to them tomorrow, and everything will be over.”
I let out a low laugh, heavy with exhaustion.
“I won’t apologize for something I didn’t do.”
A crease formed between his brows. He was about to speak when his phone lit up.
It was a photo from Daisy.
She was wearing a sheer lace nightdress, her eyes full of invitation.
A flicker of desire crossed his face before he quickly pocketed the phone.
“Stop being difficult,” he said hastily. “Think about your mother’s medical bills. Just say what needs to be said tomorrow, and this will all end.”
Without waiting for a reply, he left and slammed the door behind him.
Ten minutes later, my own phone buzzed.
A video began to play.
On the screen, Brian was shirtless, bent over Daisy’s shoulder, their breathing tangled and heavy.
I watched it quietly, then turned off the screen.
No tears. No anger.
Just silence.
Morning in London. The sunlight filtered through the fog, falling softly across the windowsill.
Aurora sat in the corner of a café, a sealed envelope resting beside her cup.
It had already been sent—her final letter to the Hudson family.
She lifted her gaze toward the red double-decker bus passing slowly along the street.
For the first time in her life, she felt something close to peace.
